Love
by Zayz
Summary: LJ. "It’s just a word. Only a four letter one, at that. Yet, this simplistic word holds such an enormous connotation, it’s remarkable how many ways it can possibly be used. Maybe this is why it can be so bloody tiresome for someone like me."


**A/N: A random rant I wrote/tweaked while I was thinking about a special someone. :) Enjoy! **

Love.

It's just a word. Only a four letter one, at that. Yet, this simplistic word holds such an enormous connotation, it's remarkable how many ways it can possibly be used. Maybe this is why it can be so bloody tiresome for someone like me.

According to the dictionary, love is a "profoundly tender, passionate affection for another person." In spite of that, though, this definition is actually about as vague as the word itself; it can refer to the unconditional love people have for a family member – a parent, a sibling, a distant Aunt Katherine for all I know. It can be the playful love for a pet – an owl, cat, or a fish or something. It can be a fetish for an inanimate object – a car, a house, or money. I can go as far as to call love the obsession I know humans have with intangible ideas – power, for instance. But, all these forms of love mean something different to every individual on this planet; it's exasperating when one is called upon to differentiate the different types, because more often than not, they mix up each type until they're completely lost, bumbling around in the dark because they misread their emotions.

Take my friends for example – they're intelligent girls, every single one of them, but when it comes to boys, they lose all of their mental capacity completely. They suppose that each boy they fall for is their destined soul-mate, the only one that could ever make them happy, when in actuality, they amount to nothing but passing fancies along the Great Road of Life. When I tell them this, they get upset with me and insist that this is the truest of true loves, that I would never understand him the way they did. Boo-hoo. Pass the napkins along, please.

I've never understood this fascination girls have with the "perfect ending;" mostly because I know it doesn't exist. Love is nothing but a universal term for countless branches of fondness, and there is no flawless type. Loving someone is never going to be easy, therefore it is never going to be perfect; if every being tried to look for faultlessness, as I know a lot of them will, they'll be looking forever, because it _doesn't exist_. Love itself will only ever exist if it's allowed to exist – there's no such thing as "accidentally falling in love" with someone, because it takes conscious effort for it to happen.

This being said, I would like to take this opportunity to squash all the annoying rumors out there that I am "truly" in love with James Potter.

Why? Because I'm _not_.

As aforementioned, there are branches of love that, while are admittedly closely linked, are all poles apart at the same time. Allegedly, I've hit that center branch already – the branch that leads to getting married and having sex every other night of the week. It's not true though; I don't love James that way. I don't love anybody that way, for that matter. I don't think I ever will either – I've never been crazy about the idea of marriage, to be quite honest, nor do I believe sex is the only way to prove being serious about a relationship.

Of course, nobody _else_ sees it this way – they all think I'm in denial.

For the record, I'm not. I love James as my fellow Head Boy – a friend, a companion, a confidant. This year has changed a lot for us, including turning us from enemies to acquaintances and then to friends, but one thing that has stayed the same is my lack of romantic feelings for him. Sure, I think it's sweet that he picks me up some lunch-to-go when I spend Sundays in the library catching up with my homework, but does that mean I'm going to marry him and have children with him? No, it doesn't; it just means he's a considerate guy and I work too much. I have never understood why this is "proof" for my being infatuated with him – I don't think I ever will.

The purest form of love that they call infatuation means, to me, thinking about that boy all the time, planning the day around glimpses of him. It means butterflies in the stomach when he comes by, a melting of the heart when he leaves. It's shown through repeated conversations about the same things about him, noticing the littlest details about him when no one else does. It means living for them and for them alone, getting pleasure only from their company.

Do I feel that way about James Potter?

No, sir, I don't.

I don't think about him all the time…unless he's nearby, in which case I have to; or if he's ill, which has happened a couple of times; or if he's simply not there, which triggers off my fretting about him missing a meeting or something of the sort.

I don't plan my day around him…unless he's got Quidditch, or homework, or a meeting with the prefects, or patrolling, or when he only has a certain time when he can talk to me about Head duties.

I don't get butterflies when I look at him…unless he's wearing that brown shirt of his that perfectly compliments his eyes, a fact I've never cared to share with him.

I don't melt when he leaves…unless I had to speak to him about anything ranging from serious to stupid and he left before I could finish, which admittedly happens, seeing as he is one of the most popular boys in Hogwarts.

I don't repeat conversations about him…unless it's me and my friends arguing about how I _don't_ love him when they think that I somehow do.

I don't notice the littlest things about him…unless it's that tiny mole just under his left eye that I find so inexplicably adorable that I can't help staring at it whenever he stands close enough to me.

I don't live for him either, nor do I only get pleasure from his company…unless I'm feeling really, really down, at which point I retire to the Heads dorm where only he can reach me or talk to me about what's going on.

So isn't it clear now? I don't love James; I don't feel that way about him. He's only my friend. I've only dreamt about him once, and it was because he got late to a really important meeting that got me in enormous trouble with Professor McGonagall.

That's not true love.

True love would be…if I ranted on the topic of love which mysteriously turned into the topic of James Potter for ages and ages, and didn't even believe a single word coming out of my mouth.

And I do believe every single word coming out of my mouth.

Don't I?


End file.
